


Straight and Narrow

by LoriLee (cowgirl65)



Category: The Big Valley
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Coming of Age, Gen, Recreational Drug Use, implied sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-17
Updated: 2010-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-26 04:35:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/278748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowgirl65/pseuds/LoriLee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What could have made Jarrod into the man he became?  A slightly different look at Jarrod's college days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own any television show and make nothing from writing this other than cheap thrills

_The story starts about one year before ‘Palms Of Glory’…_

 

Jarrod closed the door to his room behind him and sat heavily in the comfortable leather chair by the fireplace. Reaching for a cigar, he bit the end off and lit it, taking a few puffs before leaning his head back and staring at the ceiling.

The words of his youngest brother reverberated in his head.

 _“You can’t lecture me, Jarrod! You’re so damned proper and so damned serious all the time! How would you know what it’s like to want to cut loose and have some fun?!”_

The lawyer breathed a heavy sigh and took another drag on the cigar, watching the smoke swirl away as he exhaled. He considered pouring himself a scotch, but alcohol didn’t seem terribly appealing at the moment.

How could he tell his baby brother that he knew all too well the desire to cut loose, free from parental restrictions and the eyes of family? How could he admit to someone who’d looked up to him as a father figure for the past five years how much that “having fun” almost cost him?

Picking up the letter that sat on the side table, Jarrod re-read the contents that started the confrontation with Eugene.

 _… has been missing an unacceptable amount of classes and is generally late to those he does attend … his grades are low, much lower than a young man of his potential could achieve … If this continues, Mr. Eugene Barkley may not be accepted for a second term.  
_  
Jarrod closed his eyes, the present echoing memories of events that happened years ago…

\-------------------------

 

“Hey, Barkley!”

Jarrod pried open bleary eyes as the voice called out again, this time accompanied by an insistent pounding.

“Barkley, I know you’re in there! We’ve gotta get going!”

Jarrod wasn’t sure if the pounding was coming from inside his skull or outside the room. He pulled the covers over his head in an attempt to make it go away and succeeded in muffling the hammering on the door. The hammering behind his eyes, however, only got more pronounced.

“Better get going, gorgeous,” came a sultry female voice, light fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I don’t really need your friend breaking down my door.”

Groaning, Jarrod worked his way out of the covers, but not without a pat on the backside of the buxom blonde lounging in the bed beside him. “Hold your horses, I’m coming,” he called out, as loud as he dared without increasing the throbbing in his head.

How many bottles of whiskey had they put away last night anyway, Jarrod asked himself while he searched for his pants. He remembered calling for a third for he, Wagner and Carter, but after that things got a bit fuzzy. He slightly recalled heading upstairs with the blonde; Tess, that was the name his aching brain supplied. He could only hope he’d gotten his money’s worth.

“Barkley, if we don’t get moving, we’re going to be late for Owens’ class, and then we’ll really be in for it!”

Since coming to college a couple months ago, Jarrod found himself in an existence he’d never dreamed of. He knew the Barkleys were a powerful, wealthy family, and back home in Stockton, it didn’t set them apart from others in the valley. But here, that wealth and power meant something. Jarrod was at the top of the elite, everyone wanted to be seen with and call the dashing young man friend and that popularity had a heady quality. Studies and making the grade had quickly taken second place to the social whirl the young college student found himself in.

Finished buttoning his shirt, Jarrod threw a generous tip on the nightstand and despite the raging pain in his head, blew Tess a rakish kiss before opening the door.

“God, Barkley, we’d better find a horse trough for you to dunk your head in before we show our faces in class,” the sandy blond young man badgered him. “You look like you’ve been dragged a mile behind wild mustangs. Or maybe,” he added with a leering grin, “it was just that wildcat you took upstairs last night. Maybe I should check for claw marks.”

“And you look fresh as a daisy, Carter,” Jarrod taunted back with an appraising glance for his compatriot’s pale complexion and bloodshot eyes as they made their careful way down the stairs.

“I see he’s still alive,” came another voice, this one in the direction of the bar. Jarrod and Aaron Carter walked over to the last of their threesome who was leaning back on the highly polished mahogany. Karl Wagner handed two glasses filled with amber liquor to his companions and picked up his own. “Looks like you need a little hair of the dog this morning, Barkley. Hope she was worth it.”

Jarrod took the proffered glass and drained it in one shot. He hoped she’d been worth it too. The fact that he couldn’t remember all of the previous night didn’t really bother him as much as it once did; after all, it was happening with relative frequency of late. In the beginning, the partying was reserved for the weekends but lately it seemed they were out at least every other night, drinking, gambling and wenching in all the best (and some of the worst) establishments around the city.

“Hey, Barkley, pay the man, alright?”

Jarrod pulled some money out of his pocket and dropped it on the polished surface, the proprietor immediately whisking it away. In the back of his mind, Jarrod felt a vague uneasiness that his newfound friends were more interested in the contents of his pocketbook than his company, but pushed the uncomfortable thought away. He had the money; what harm was there in using it to show his chums a good time?


	2. Chapter 2

Jarrod leaned back and closed his eyes against the dull ache in his head that was becoming a constant part of his life. They’d heard of some new girls at one of the local clubs and he and a few others spent the better part of last night sampling their charms and partaking of the excellent scotch the owner stocked for those who could afford it. As a consequence, Jarrod barely got two hours’ sleep before he had to get up and finish his paper.

Doggedly turning to the page in front of him, the young man penned a few more lines. He wasn’t sure how he’d missed the assignment, and it took all his charm and persuasiveness to get Professor Rawlins to give him an extension. Jarrod was determined to get the ten-page paper on the economics of trade between America and England finished and handed in by tomorrow morning’s deadline, knowing the last thing he wanted to do was explain a failing grade to his parents.

His father had been reluctant to send him to college in the first place, wanting his eldest to step into his own shoes running the extensive Barkley ranch. Jarrod’s mother stood up for him, arguing that Jarrod’s college education could only benefit their numerous businesses, that Nick already wanted to run the ranch and would be more than capable when he got a bit older. Jarrod didn’t want to betray her faith in him and wanted to prove to his father that letting him come was the right decision, so headache or no headache, he was going to finish that paper.

He was still plowing along determinedly a few hours later when a sandy brown head poked into his room. “Hey, Barkley.”

“Go away, Carter,” Jarrod grumbled, trying to smooth out the wording of the last paragraph.

Aaron Carter leaned against the doorframe, a devilish look on his face. He stood there, unmoving, staring at Jarrod until the dark haired young man turned on the intruder in annoyance.

“What do you want, Carter? I need to get this paper done for tomorrow.”

Carter just grinned. “Doesn’t look like much fun, Barkley, but I think I’ve got something that might put a smile on your face.”

“Go away,” Jarrod repeated and turned back to the work in front of him.

“There’s a pretty high stakes poker game going on only a few blocks from here,” Carter continued, ignoring Jarrod’s order. “Heard tell one of the major players is VanPelt.” He waited for the reaction he knew would come.

Jarrod turned slowly. “Do tell?” he replied, putting down his pen.

“Uh huh,” Carter confirmed, a smile of satisfaction on his face.

George VanPelt, son of a wealthy financier, took every opportunity to deride the young Barkley, calling him a ‘country bumpkin’ and his family ‘upstart new money’, as if the hard work Tom Barkley put into building up the family fortune made them less worthy than if he’d merely inherited it.

Jarrod looked down at his unfinished assignment. It was only mid-afternoon; there’d be plenty of time to complete it after a few hands of cards.

*

Jarrod and VanPelt watched each other over their cards. They were the only two players left as the others had either been cleaned out or left the game as the stakes became too high. Jarrod had long ago shed his vest and tie; the atmosphere in the back room of a local gentlemen’s club was hot and oppressive as the onlookers watched the pot grow larger and larger with each raise. An untidy collection of bills, coins and assorted jewelry lay in the middle of the table as Jarrod threw the last of his money on top of the pile.

“Call.”

With a grand flourish, VanPelt put down his hand, cards fanned out. The ten of spades and every ace lay there, mocking Jarrod’s audacity at thinking he could beat four of a kind.

Jarrod stared into the face of his opponent, midnight blue eyes inscrutable. With infinite slowness, the two of diamonds was placed on the table, eliciting snickers from VanPelt and his cronies. When it was followed by the three of diamonds, and then the four, the smug expressions vanished. A collective sigh was heard as everyone let out the breaths they were holding when Jarrod finished laying down the straight flush and raked in the pot.

“Well, that’s the game, boys,” Jarrod announced, trying not to boast. “And I think we all deserve another round -- on me!” That statement was greeted with loud whoops and hollers as Jarrod stacked his winnings into a tidy pile, tucking several large bank notes into the low-cut décolletage of the woman who’d been serving him all evening and pulling her onto his lap, laying a steamy kiss on her red-painted lips.

The sun was peaking over the tops of the buildings when the revelers stumbled back to their lodgings and fell into their beds, classes and papers completely forgotten.


	3. Chapter 3

“I have to say, I’m extremely disappointed in your performance, Mr. Barkley.”

Jarrod sat stiffly in the hard backed chair across from the desk. A sick feeling had started in the pit of his stomach when he received the summons to the dean’s office that morning, and now, meeting with the head of the college, that sick feeling grew into an almost physical pain.

“Is there anything I should know about, anything going on that is adversely affecting your studies?” Dean Robinson, every inch the academic in his tweed jacked and wire-rimmed glasses placed slightly askew on his nose, watched Jarrod with an almost fatherly concern.

Jarrod tried to swallow, but his mouth felt like it was filled with dust. He didn’t think staying up all night drinking and gambling was the kind of reason the dean meant.

“No, sir,” he replied meekly.

Dean Robinson pulled out a handkerchief and took off his glasses to wipe at one of the lenses. Replacing them back on the bridge of his nose, the dean picked up some papers from his desk and perused them carefully. “Well, I’ve seen it before, a young man away from home for the first time, that might have something to do with it,” the dean mused. Jarrod remained silent.

“These grades can still be made up,” the dean continued, “with a lot of diligence and hard work.” He eyed Jarrod appraisingly and Jarrod felt the dean take his measure. “I know you can do it, Mr. Barkley. I sense great things in you and I happen to pride myself on being a good judge of character.”

“Thank you,” Jarrod mumbled, feeling unworthy of the dean’s positive regard. He wasn’t sure if the man was truly unaware of his extracurricular activities, or if he was just choosing to ignore them and give Jarrod the benefit of the doubt.

“But---” and this time Dean Robinson fixed the young man with a stern gaze, “if your grades do not improve, you will not be able to continue here. We only have a limited number of places and there are many deserving young men who would like a chance at a higher education. Do I make myself clear, Mr. Barkley?”

“Yes, sir.” Jarrod fervently hoped the interview was at an end.

“You may go, Mr. Barkley,” the dean told him, much to Jarrod’s relief. “Your professors will have some extra credit work for you to improve your grades. I hope the next time we have a chance to speak will be under more pleasant circumstances.”

Jarrod left the dean’s office as fast as he could without making it appear how much he wanted to escape. His knees felt weak and he felt like he might be sick. How could he ever return home and face his family if he got kicked out of school? He’d always been the golden boy, the one who brought home the best grades and had praise heaped on by his teachers. To flunk now…

Jarrod shook his head. He’d do what the dean said; go to his professors, get the extra assignments and work like the devil until he brought his marks up to standard. It was early Friday afternoon and most of the faculty would probably be still in their offices. There was no time like the present and Jarrod set off determinedly to start catching up.

“Barkley! There you are!”

Jarrod gave a deep sigh as Wagner and Carter caught up with him and flanked him, each slinging a companionable arm around his shoulders.

“Everett’s folks just left for their European tour,” Carter announced, “and you know what that means.”

Wagner grinned. “Weekend party!”

“Look, fellas, I really don’t think I can…” Jarrod started to protest, but Wagner cut him off.

“Grab what you need, Barkley, ‘cause we won’t be back ‘til Sunday.” He laughed. “Or Monday morning! I hear he’s even hired girls for the whole weekend.”

Jarrod gave in as his buddies raved about what was likely to be the party of the term. After all, it was only one more weekend.

*

“God,” Jarrod groaned, resting his head in his hands, “why can’t a day be thirty hours instead of just twenty-four? Then I might be able to make a dent in this.” He indicated the stack of papers on his desk with a sweep of his arm. He’d been given his last chance; if he didn’t hand in these assignments in the next few days, he was going to be expelled from college.

“If you didn’t need to sleep, you’d gain at least six hours every night,” Wagner stated, entering the room where Jarrod and Carter were trying to catch up on some of their assignments.

“And when was the last time you remember actually getting six hours sleep?” Jarrod wanted to know. Carter snickered.

Wagner was unperturbed. He withdrew a green bottle from the box he was carrying and held it up for their inspection.

“Behold!” he announced. “I have just the thing an overworked college student needs. Guaranteed to nourish, strengthen, stimulate, fortify and refresh the entire system and unequaled as a stimulant for the fatigued body and brain."

Jarrod eyed the bottle suspiciously. “It’s medicine, Wagner.”

“Ah, but what medicine,” Wagner said, his tone sounding like he was extolling the virtues of a beautiful woman rather than a rather dubious looking bottle of, well, of health tonic. “This is Vin Mariani*, made with the finest French Bordeaux and the purest extract of coca leaves which enhances performance and increases endurance, something which you gentleman should not scoff at.” That statement was accompanied by a knowing leer. “It has been imported from Europe at great considerable cost and risk, the cost to my parents who brought it back with them on their recent trip and the risk to myself in liberating it from the medicine cupboard.”

With that lengthy speech, Wagner placed a bottle in front of each of them with a flourish. “Drink up, lads. I’ll swear you’ve never felt anything like it.” He uncorked his bottle and held in up in a salute before taking a healthy swig. Jarrod and Carter looked at each other, shrugged, and followed suit.

Halfway through the bottle, the mild buzz Jarrod expected from the alcohol started to turn into something more. He broke out in a sweat and his hands started shaking, causing him to put the bottle down before he dropped it. Then an intense euphoria overtook him, and Jarrod experienced a certainty that there was nothing he couldn’t do. He felt strong enough run back to Stockton and clever enough that he’d just breeze through the rest of the term. The feeling was so intense, and so intoxicating, Jarrod quickly grabbed for the bottle and took a long pull.

That was when Carter fell out of his chair, jerking violently. His eyes, wide open, rolled back into his head and his arms and legs thrashed uncontrollably. Jarrod and Wagner could only watch in horror as frothy saliva formed on his lips before Carter’s whole body spasmed in one massive convulsion before becoming still, dark red blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth.

At that moment, Jarrod’s heart started racing, beating so hard he thought it was going to burst out of his chest. Carter’s body lying on the floor was the last sight Jarrod remembered before darkness engulfed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Note: Mariani Coca Wine (which reportedly contained 6 mg of cocaine per ounce) was introduced in France in the mid-1800s. Coca wine became a widely popular health tonic in Europe and North America in the late 1800s. It was widely recommended by doctors and public figures alike, such as Pope Leo XIII, Thomas Edison, and Jules Verne. Wagner’s testimonials as to its properties are taken from actual advertisements of the time.
> 
> "...sustains and refreshes both the body and brain....It may be taken at any time with perfect safety...it has been effectually proven that in the same space of time more than double the amount of work could be undergone when Peruvian Wine of Coca was used, and positively no fatigue experienced....." An excerpt from the Sears, Roebuck and Co. Consumers' Guide (1900), their extraordinary Peruvian Wine of Coca...
> 
>  
> 
> if anyone thinks how could people believe that, take a look at this current ad for 'energy' drinks:
> 
> "… is a functional beverage … specially developed for times of increased mental and physical exertion... vitalizes body and mind.  .. - increases performance - increases concentration and reaction speed - improves vigilance - improves the emotional status - stimulates metabolism … effects are appreciated throughout the world by top athletes, busy professionals, active students and drivers on long journeys."
> 
> remarkable similarities, eh?


	4. Chapter 4

“Jarrod? Jarrod, open your eyes, son.”

Jarrod heard the voice of his father penetrate the blackness that surrounded him and tried to make sense of where he was and what had happened.

The image of Carter’s body convulsing on the floor came like a lightning bolt and Jarrod’s eyes flew open, meeting those of his father. Tom Barkley’s face was stern, but full of sorrow and Jarrod found himself wishing it had been he who was dead on the floor rather than face the disappointment he saw in the elder Barkley’s eyes. He thought back to the pride on both his parents’ faces when he boarded the train to head off for school and knew how badly he’d failed them.

“I’m so sorry, Father,” he managed to choke out.

Tom shook his head sadly. “Why, Jarrod?” he asked. “You had this golden opportunity, a full and wonderful life ahead of you, and you almost lost it all because of your uncontrolled, self-indulgent behaviour.”

Jarrod had no words to respond, he only wished he had a sharp knife on hand to slit his wrists and end the shame he’d brought on his family.

His father abruptly stood up and paced to the other side of the room to stare out the window. “How did we fail you, son? Did your mother and I do something, or not do something, to cause you to act like this?”

The thought of his mother’s pain over his actions made Jarrod wish the earth would open up and swallow him whole.

“I talked to the dean. He told me how disappointed he was in your lack of academic performance. And in light of your, well, extracurricular activities, he’s recommending your expulsion.”

Jarrod couldn’t stop the burn of the tears that sprang up so suddenly and his body shook with sobs he couldn’t control.

“I let everyone down,” he whispered hoarsely, “I’m not worthy to be a Barkley.”

Tom turned then, and took three large strides to Jarrod’s bedside and gathered him into his strong embrace. “Oh, Jarrod, oh, son, I almost lost you. You’re my son and I love you, in spite of everything.” Jarrod felt the wetness of his father’s tears against his cheek and wondered how he could still be deserving of such love.

It was a few days before Jarrod felt ready to travel. The trip home was much subdued, a far cry from the one he’d taken at the start of term, full of ideals and the belief he was going to change the world. Tom never asked and Jarrod never offered to speak of the details of what exactly happened during Jarrod’s ill-fated time at college. Jarrod didn’t know what his father was going to tell the rest of the family about why he was returning home and didn’t ask, he was just grateful he still had his father’s love and a home to return to.

\--------------------------

 _Present day_

 

Jarrod started when the clock struck one. So lost in his thoughts, he’d missed the chiming of midnight and must have dozed off for a brief spell.

Jarrod thought back to that time when he’d returned home in shame. No one looked at him any differently and Jarrod was grateful to his father for telling everyone he had just been homesick, not the real reason behind his return. He vowed to make up for the disappointment, to regain as much of his father’s faith and trust as was possible and threw himself into work on the ranch with a single-minded determination.

Jarrod did every demanding and menial task on the ranch that was asked of him without complaint. He remembered coming in at suppertime, dirty, worn out, too exhausted to even eat, but with a resolve that never again was he going to let Tom Barkley down. That winter and spring, Jarrod resigned himself to a life working on the ranch with his father, only letting himself mourn for his destroyed dreams when he was alone in his room late at night.

Jarrod could still feel the shock, the disbelief warring with exultation when his father announced he had arranged a clerkship for his eldest son with a prominent judge in San Francisco, resurrecting Jarrod’s dream of studying law. Silently, Jarrod had sworn he’d do his utmost to be worthy of the second chance he thought he’d never have and his days for the next few years were filled with studies, books and the drive for success, only interrupted by his need to serve in the War Between the States and further redeem himself in his own eyes, even though Tom told him there was no need to prove anything to anyone.

He’d eventually graduated summa cum laude from Harvard, granted admission on the recommendation of Judge Hoffman, and it didn’t take long for the name of Jarrod Barkley to be counted as one of the most promising young lawyers on the west coast.

Jarrod sighed. He needed to have a heart-to-heart with his little brother, to let Eugene know that even though he’d willingly stepped into his role as Pappy, Jarrod did understand what the young man was feeling. He needed to tell Gene what he’d never talked about with anyone before, not with his mother, not with Nick, not even with his father. And maybe that heart-to-heart would prevent Gene from ever having to experience firsthand what kept his eldest brother on a straight and narrow path.

Knowing there wasn’t much chance of sleep coming any time soon, Jarrod quietly left his room, intending to head downstairs and get a start on the paperwork he knew was waiting for him. A telltale sliver of light showed under his brother’s door, sleep obviously eluding the youngest Barkley as well.

Jarrod tapped lightly on the door. “Gene?” he called softly. “It’s Jarrod. I was hoping we could talk.”

At the quiet, “Come in,” Jarrod opened the door and stepped inside, hoping he’d be able to keep the door open on a bright future for another Barkley son.


End file.
